doing to himself - that he was damaging his life and his future - but he couldn't or wouldn't hear.
The kettle whistled, and leaving the Christmas box in the hall, Anne moved into the kitchen. She took the blue ceramic teapot from the cupboard and filled it with boiling water, then added a tea bag - Earl Grey, her favorite - and left it to steep. After a moment, she poured herself a cup and took a first sip of the aromatic tea. She frowned, berating herself for allowing her thoughts to follow the path they'd taken. Just when she assumed she was free of Burton, she'd wallow in the pain all over again and realize how far she had yet to go. There was only one cure for this bout of self-pity and for the worry that consumed her. Setting down the china cup, Anne bowed her head and prayed. Sometimes it was difficult to find the words to express what was in her heart, but not today. The prayer flew from her lips.
"Dear Lord, send my son a woman to love. One who'll help him heal, who'll teach him about forgiveness. A woman who'll open his heart and wake him up to the kind of man he's becoming."
Slowly, as if weighed down by her doubts, Anne's prayer circled the room. Gradually it ascended, rising with the steam from the teapot, spiraling upward out of the simple cottage and toward the leaden sky. It rose higher and higher until it reached the clouds and then sped toward the heavens. There, it landed on the desk of the Archangel Gabriel, the same Archangel who'd delivered the good news of God's love to a humble Jewish maiden more than two thousand years ago.
Gabriel, however, was away from his desk.
Shirley, Goodness and Mercy, three Prayer Ambassadors who had a reputation for employing unorthodox means to achieve their ends, stood just inside the Archangel's quarters. Together the three of them watched as the prayer made its way onto his desk. Only the most difficult prayer requests went to the mighty Gabriel - the prayers that came from those who were most in need, from the desperate and discouraged.
"Don't read it," Shirley cried when Goodness, unable to resist, bent to pick up the wispy sheet.
"Why not?" Goodness had always had more curiosity than was good for her. She knew that peeking at a prayer request before Gabriel had a chance to view it was asking for trouble, but that didn't stop her. Mercy was the one most easily swayed by things on Earth, and Shirley, well, Shirley was nearly perfect. At one time she'd been a Guardian Angel but had transferred to the ranks of the Prayer Ambassadors. That had happened under suspicious circumstances, so Shirley's perfection was a little compromised. Shirley never mentioned the incident, though, and Goodness dared not inquire. She knew that some things were better left unknown - despite her desire to hear all the sordid details.
"Goodness," Shirley warned again.
"I'm just going to glance at the name," Goodness muttered, carefully lifting the edge of the folded sheet.
"Is it anyone we know?" Mercy demanded, drawing closer.
Goodness eyed Shirley, who was trying not to reveal her own interest. "Well, is it?" Shirley finally asked.
"No," Goodness said. "I've never heard of Anne Fletcher, have you?"
"Anne Fletcher?" Shirley echoed, and then as if her knees had gone out from under her, she sank into the chair reserved for Gabriel. "Anne Fletcher from California," the former Guardian Angel repeated slowly.
Goodness looked again, lifting the edge of the sheet just a bit higher this time. "Formerly of California," she said.
"Oh, no!" Shirley cried. "She moved. I wonder why. Tell me where she's gone."
"The San Juan Islands," Mercy said, leaning over Goodness to take a look for herself.
"She's in the Caribbean?" Shirley said, sounding distraught.
"No, in Puget Sound - Washington State," Goodness told her.
"I remember it well," Mercy said with a dreamy smile. "Don't you remember the Bremerton Shipyard? We had so much fun there."
"What I remember," Goodness informed her fellow angel, "was all the trouble we got in when you started shifting aircraft carriers and destroyers around."
"I don't know how many times you want me to apologize for that," Mercy muttered, crossing her arms defiantly. "It was a fluke. Nothing like that's happened since, and frankly I think you're..."
Her words faded as she saw Goodness studying Shirley. "How do you know Anne Fletcher?" Goodness asked softly.
"Poor, poor Anne," Shirley murmured, seemingly lost in thought. "I knew